


Harbringer

by FullMetamorphosis



Series: The Galaxy Shattering Around Us [5]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Brain Damage, Brainwashing, Cults, F/M, Injury, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 18:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetamorphosis/pseuds/FullMetamorphosis
Summary: I hadn’t been named a Cipher for being a fool. But things have changed now, I know it. Before Miroslav came, consciousness was unfamiliar, rare. I hadn’t fought so hard, back when the brainwashing was fresh, at its strongest. I’d resigned myself to being a tool, to never breaking free. Back then, I never even had autonomy over my own body. I was just witness to madness, slowly watching my own reflection first go frail, then pale, and then red-eyed.But then something changed. Being led into the base on Nar Shaddaa, and seeing him - the whole world had shattered. Seeing his dull eyes, seeing him led around like I always was, I’d suddenly gained strength in my limbs. I’d seen him. And then I’d shrieked his name as I tried to break free and reach him.I hadn’t made it halfway across the room before there’d been a needle in my neck and the gaping expanse of the dark.But it had been enough.





	1. Chapter 1

_It must be raining_.

Even as the awareness hits me, I struggle not to move. Not to flinch, or blink, or give away any sign of my sudden consciousness. There are people talking nearby, after all, and I know they’re talking about me, even if I can’t quite hear them yet. First step after regaining consciousness: determine surroundings. The rest could come later.

It’s a room I recognize. It’s a room in the SIS Headquarters on Coruscant, an office for one of the superior officers that were always chaperoning me around. I can see the window in my periphery, and it is, indeed, raining. A constant memory had brought me back - the reminder of home. Dromund Kaas.

But nobody knows about  _that_.

The words are seeping in, now, the certain success rates of tests, missions I’d performed since last we’d met, and more. And the presence of pain is reeling in, too - this time, in my lungs, as well as my hands and feet. I was always awakening to new pains, but the tightness in my lungs is different. Still, I don’t move. I don’t turn to see who’s in the room, or to respond to the pain. I sit very still, like I had before. I don’t betray a thing.

“Maintaining two Ciphers here is dangerous - won’t be long until something slips.”

“What, because a Senator’s just going to waltz in and ask questions? They know they don’t have power here. Not even over Project: Aerowen.”

“Would if they knew.”

“Sir, do we need to keep her in the room with us for this conversation? She’s just arrived back from a mission in Quesh. She’s probably still a biocontaminant.”

_Ah_ , I think.  _That explains why it’s so hard to breathe_.

“We can leave that to the medical unit to take care of. Probably won’t need to give her a break if she’s still upright. And she’s shown little signs of pain from what you say.”

“She’s so heavily drugged all the time I doubt she could if she wanted to.”

“Regardless, we can send her to the medbay and have them work out the kinks.” He finally speaks up, words intended for me. “Agent Aerowen: go to the medbay and have them tend to your wounds, immediately.”

I keep my words even as possible. I give away nothing.

“Yes, sir.”

I stand up from my seat and mechanically turn in place, towards the door. I walk out and close the door behind me, as was typical. I have to force myself not to hesitate. As much as I want to know more, I can’t risk being spotted now.

They’d said the thing I’d been fearing the most.  _It’s too dangerous to maintain two Ciphers_.

I have to act. Now.

I keep my gait even. My walk steady, my gaze forward. I try to move like I’m still out of it, without a sign of awareness. Even if there are Republican agents wandering around, I don’t try to let them intimidate me. I walk with confidence. Instead of going straight to the med centre, I take a turn. I start wandering into an older part of the building, rarely used.

_The old med bay would be this way - as well as a communications room. If I’m caught now, they’d just think there was an error_.

Play the part of marionette. Pretend like you don’t see a thing. I’d grown used to it, after all. I’d been shaped into a mindless vessel from birth.

Came from being born into a goddamn  _cult_.

The door to the communications room is open. I slip in and shut the door behind me. After a quick scan for cameras, I finally relax and lean fully against the door. I shut my eyes. I’m away from any wandering eyes, and I’m alone.  _For now_.

There was rarely a moment where I was alone anymore. It’d been like that for years, now - I don’t know how many. I remember I was 20 when I’d first been kidnapped during a mission onto Taris. But I don’t know how long it’s been since then. Nobody ever mentioned a date.

But they  _had_  mentioned one thing while I’d been aware. And that’s what sustains me as I push off of the door and step towards the old communications hub. Old as the technology was now - it’d  _work_.

“ _All we have to worry about now is not getting that damned Alliance involved - and then we’ll be set_.”

I’d heard about the Alliance many memories alone, and I’d been so startled by what I’d heard I nearly broke my cover. The Alliance - and over time, I’d learned. It was the quiet third party to the Republic and Empire, the unbiased and unfiltered group that sought to correct errors in the galaxy, regardless of borders. Led by an old Republican agent and a Sith, and based on Odessan. I’d pieced together bits of information over time, and finally, some time ago, I’d been within earshot to hear somebody talking with them over the holocomms.

I nearly died, risking to wait until somebody left the hub alone and then downloading the correspondence code into my cybernetics. I’d only done it just in time. Somebody found me after, and dragged me back to my rooms. I’d been unconscious, acting without my will, for maybe months after that.

But now. Now I’m awake, I think, as I quickly type the code into the old hub, not having even bothered with the lights. Now I’m awake, and I’ve heard all the confirmation I needed. The idea, just the  _thought_ , that my fellow agent and I were liabilities. That mere idea would snowball, I know it. It’d snowball until it became action.

I’m not going to let that happen.

I hit the open channel button. I wait with baited breath.

An image comes to life.

My eyes go wide. It’s a bored looking Twi’lek on the other line, her tone dull, words recited as if from a script:  _“Alliance Headquarters. Can I redirect your call?”_

“Yes! I mean, yes- yes, you can,” I have to hold back my tone - I’m hyperaware that I’m losing time quicker than ever, and I might not even have enough time for this. For a moment, I panic - who do I even ask for? - and I make a snap judgement. “I need to talk to- to your Sith leader.  _Lana Beniko_.”

Suddenly, the Twi’lek lifts her head. She seems lost in thought, for a moment, before fully turning up in her projection.  _“Nobody … has ever asked directly for her,”_  she says, half-bewildered already.  _“Are you from an agency?”_

“No! No, but it’s an emergency, and I need to speak with her.  _Now_.” I push my hair back, half-desperate. I spit it out in a rush. “ _I need help with a rescue_.”

The Twi’lek blinks at me, eyes wide. I think I’ve made her jaw drop.

The image goes to static, and I nearly lose it as I think the signal’s just been cut - and then another image of a light-haired woman, dressed in semi-traditional sith robes, cuts in.

“ _Hello? This is Lana Beniko_ -”

“Thank god! Thank god, okay,  _god_ , listen to me,” I lean in closer and dig my hands against the table, desperately trying to grip the table. Finally, after so long -  _I see somebody’s face_. Somebody from the  _Alliance_.

She doesn’t speak. She watches me. I spill over all at once.

“My name is Ji-Yeong Lyanther - I’m being held captive as a rogue agent by the SIS, I’ve been here for  _years_ , I need to be rescued. Not just me - my friend, another Cipher, he’s also been stuck here for … months? I don’t know. Maybe a year? I’ve lost track of time. I don’t have any full recollections, I’ve been brainwashed most of the time. I’ve only had enough agency now to talk to somebody-”

“ _Slow down_ ,” she says, brow furrowing, a hand held up to stop me. “ _You’re a captive? In the SIS_?”

“ _Yes!_  I’ve been kept here against my will, I don’t know how long for. I used to be an Imperial Intelligence agent, I was Cipher Ten, my friend was I think- maybe Cipher Eleven?” the woman suddenly leans forward, as if typing information into a computer. I talk faster. “All I know is that he doesn’t  _recognize me_ , I think he’s been completely under, unconscious, doing things against his will- he’s getting hurt,  _badly_ , every time I see him when I’m awake he’s more bruised than before, and just- please.  _Please_ ,” I stammer out. I can’t think, barely even breathe. The ache in my lungs has turned into a burning, and I suddenly lean forward, and cough, hard. There’s phlegm coming up, and I spit it to the side. I’m horrified to see it’s  _red_.

He isn’t- the  _only_ one who’s getting worse-

“ _Where were you last stationed_?”

“They had me on a mission on-” I cough again. “Quesh.  _Quesh_. They tried sending me to the medbay but I came to an isolated part of the base to-  _shit_ ,” I turn to the door. They’re distant, but I can hear them.  _Footsteps_.

“ _Cipher, I do see your log here. You disappeared four years ago on-mission. There’s also a Cipher Eleven who disappeared around eight months past_.”

“Yes, yes, that’s it,  _that’s us_. Please, we need help,  _please_ , I-” the footsteps are getting louder. I look back to the door again. “Oh god, somebody’s coming.”

“ _Stay calm, Lyanther. I’m getting your coordinates now. I’m arranging a team to fly out to Coruscant, but it’ll be several days_.”

“I don’t  _care_ , I don’t care, you have to- to rescue him. Us-” I tense up fully as the footsteps stop outside the door. My whisper is heated. “ _I have to go_ -”

“ _Lyanther, stay safe_ -”

“What’s going on in here?!”

… just in time.

Staring at the wall. Looking off into space. Upright, loose, standing like a soldier.

The comm is offline.

“Revan damned, is that  _you_ , Project Aerowen? The damned lights aren’t even on-” the lights turn on above me. It’s nearly blinding, but I don’t move. A soldier walks right in front of me, an agent I recognize in passing. He’s a more senior officer, hair grey, and he looks over me with scrutinizing eyes. “You must’ve gotten confused again. Goddamn. Like that last time, when you nearly threw yourself into a garbage compactor. Both hilarious and freaky as all hell.”

He swears, a  _lot_. He pulls out his personal comm, and types in a code. The officer from before shows up in blue.

“Hey, hey - Project: Aerowen’s in the wrong place again. Caught in some old part of the building. Where were you trying to send her?”

“ _Again? Damn - we’ll have to do some scans to see if her brain’s deteriorating. Not the first time this month even_ ,” I hear, which is both reassuring and fucking terrifying. “ _I was trying to send her to the medbay. You’ll have to walk her there - some issue in her lungs from Quesh. After that she’s supposed to return to that bunker-cell with the other Cipher_.”

“Got it. Thanks, chief,” the man turns off the comm and puts it back in his pocket. He sighs, pushes his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.

He looks to the comm I’m standing by, and my heart nearly  _stops_.

“I doubt you’d do anything in here but stand around, but just in case …”

_No no no no no!_  I hadn’t had time to wipe the call, and he’s already opening up the history. Shit,  _shit_! What was I supposed to do?! If he sees the call, I’d have to knock him out and make him forget - but if I did, then I’d completely blow my cover! This can’t be happening now.  _This can’t be_ -

“Huh … nothing. Nothing for damn months. Sounds about right, this place should’ve been blown up months ago. Half this shit’s faulty as fuck.”

My heart finally pounds again. I would’ve sighed in relief, if I could’ve had the chance.  _She’d wiped the call. Smart Sith_.

The agent closes the history, and shuts the machine down. He turns to the floor, where I’d coughed up blood. And then he finally turns back to me, and grabs me by the arm, hauling me along. “Time to get you to the medics, agent. Hopefully they’ll get your head back on straight.”

Yeah. My lungs healed, at least - and hopefully nothing more.

I’m awake, and aware.  _And I don’t want to lose that again_.


	2. Chapter 2

The medbay had only checked my lungs, and given me an injection of an antibiotic. I’m thankful for that. It keeps me in control, fully in my mind, where I need to be. If they’d tranqed me, or really done anything to my mental state, I would’ve been at a loss. If rescue is coming, then I need to be ready for it. I need to be  _awake_.

I have to keep putting on a brave face, and pretend. Enough for the medic to clear me, and enough to get led to the makeshift “bunker” that was really a cell. A small room, with only two beds. No entertainment - nothing for mindless drones - but it was enough.

There’s a lock behind me as I’m pushed in. And there’s a single camera in the corner of the room that I know watches us.

Which is only thing that keeps me from running to Miroslav’s side.

I just stand where I was left, and I don’t move. Instead, I look at him, my back mostly to the camera. Miroslav’s …  _unconscious_ , which isn’t uncommon, but he’s out cold. Body asleep, or else fainted. And he’s missing his shirt, torso and arms covered with an array of bandages in various degrees of filth. I have no idea where he was last, and this is the first time I’ve seen him in maybe …  _ages_.

His face is sunken, eyes dark, cheekbones sharp. His breathing is unsteady and shallow.

And he’s so, so pale.

Back in the Imperial Academy, I’d always joked about how pale he looked. It was a funny back-and-forth between us, egging each other about how pale we each looked, nearly sickly against the darker skins of our fellow students. For him, it was simply in his blood, his family line. For me, it was my race, a pale monolidded human. But at least we both had  _color_ , a certain brightness to our skins. Mine fluctuated with my wellbeing, haunted by my past.

His had only lost color in one event: when his brother, another agent, disappeared on-duty. He’d been inconsolable for weeks. His own blood, simply gone.

 _What was he like when he learned I’d gone, too_?

I’ve probably stood still too long. The camera was always watching, and so were the SIS. I walk to my bed and sit down across from Miroslav. I unstrap my cannon from my back and lean it against the side table between out beds. I pull off my outer shirt, leaving me in my camisole. I drop my shirt to the floor and rest my hands on my knees.

Still, I watch him.

My forehead burns with familiar memory, in the shape of the tattoo I’d been given more than ten years ago.

It was so easy to develop a cult in the Empire. When you had Sith lords parading around like they were the greatest piece of shit in the whole galaxy, getting themselves some sheep was a pretty easy task. I’d seen it happen more than once during my Imperial agent days, before I was taken. But I’d seen it more in my own youth, when I’d been conditioned and abused and treated like a lamb myself. My devolution was so complete I never even knew who my mother was, nor my father. There was nobody to turn to when the cult found out how  _special_  I was, how resilient my body was. How strong I could grow up to be.

 _The Force is within you_ , they’d told me as they strapped my head down and began to prepare their supplies to mark me as their herald,  _And you shall be Its- Its-_

… a ludicrous idea, of course. I’m not Force-sensitive, never was, and the pedestal they’d put me upon wasn’t because they thought I was special, it was because they wanted a strong symbol to assert themselves over the flock. Wasn’t worth much when I pulled myself together at eighteen and helped put an end to their useless drivel, but growing up like that, it’d left its mark, and not just in the lines across my brow. It had forced me to be  _practical_.

And I’m no fool to see how weak Miroslav is. How impossible it would be to make him aid in the escape.

 _If I was truly an Imperial agent, the best - I’d leave him here_.

I hadn’t been named a Cipher for being a fool. But things have changed now, I know it. Before Miroslav came, consciousness was unfamiliar, rare. I hadn’t fought so hard, back when the brainwashing was fresh, at its strongest. I’d resigned myself to being a tool, to never breaking free. Back then, I never even had autonomy over my own body. I was just witness to madness, slowly watching my own reflection first go frail, then pale, and then red-eyed.

But then something changed. Being led into the base on Nar Shaddaa, and seeing  _him_  - the whole world had shattered. Seeing his dull eyes, seeing him led around like I always was, I’d suddenly gained strength in my limbs. I’d  _seen_  him. And then I’d shrieked his name as I tried to break free and reach him.

I hadn’t made it halfway across the room before there’d been a needle in my neck and the gaping expanse of the dark. But it had been enough.

A day at a time. A push farther every hour, every minute. The fight to remain aware, to keep conscious, to fake my way through horrors and crimes of war just so I could keep in control enough to see his face when I returned, bloody and beaten.

So much horror, so I could get back to him. To take care of him like we’d taken care of each other before.

… but  _god_ , does he look so frail now. So much like a glass doll.

 _Would he even survive a rescue attempt_? I wonder, and for the first time I can’t keep up the facade. Not even for the camera. My shoulders drop, and my face falls. I squeeze my eyes shut and give in, just for a moment, for the shudders and spasms of barely-withheld sobs.

_… he will survive._

_I’ll make sure of it_.

I force myself to get back into form, to get back into the act, before I lie down on the bed and pretend to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, bro. They want Project: Aerowen in the meeting room in ten.”

I almost freeze. My lungs, which have been burning up for days now, feel like they’ve frozen, too. I was in the middle of polishing my cannon and reloading it with new ammo. Now, my hand pauses along the sleek barrel, polishing cloth limp in my hands.

Across the room, I hear my handler get up and start talking with the newcomer.

“Come on, man, my day to play babysitter and you’re telling me I have to be in a meeting of all things?”

“Not my choice. The boss wants the ciphers in for evaluation.”

 _Evaluation?!_  I’m starting to freak out. I haven’t slept in days; it’s been so hard to keep consciousness, but I’ve been forcing myself. Trying to keep myself ready for the oncoming rescue.  _But if they do anything now-!_

“Any idea why?”

“Who knows? They could be in for anything. Maybe more experiments or some shit. I mean, Project: Legate’s case has been pretty open and shut, besides the obvious.”

 _What obvious_?!

“Yeah, but at least Project: Aerowen doesn’t need a fucking surgical team every time she comes back. And she’s been here a lot longer.”

“I’m not here to argue over which one of them is  _better_ , bro, I’m just telling you to come over and fucking get her to the meeting room.”

“I  _will_ , but it’s not like I’m getting paid enough today to sit in with the chief. Seriously, I was  _just_  going to go get lunch. Thought I’d bring her so she could eat something other than gruel.”

“What, falling for the Imp or something?”

“ _Please_. I’ve seen you fawning over Legate, don’t even fuck with me.”

This is bad.  _Shit_ , this is so bad. It’s too soon,  _way_  too soon, and there isn’t even a predictability to this, no longer, unless-

_Oh god. What if they-?!_

A hand to my shoulder. I force myself not to get up and scream.

“Project: Aerowen, follow me.”

I drop the cloth in my hand and stand up, not bothering to holster my canon for the sake of time. I follow my handler.

The halls seem so empty today, even more than normal for HQ, and I wonder if it’s a weekend. Would explain why I’m just being kept on tab, and not out doing some other mission or shit. It’s just us two in the hall, and then we’re turning a corner, and there’s a pair joining us.

 _Miroslav_.

He looks so bad as he walks beside me, but I try so hard not to give in and pull him away, I fight so hard to just stay  _normal_  …

The handlers open the set of doors to the meeting room, and pull Miroslav and I in. They close the doors behind us. We’re pushed to stand in front of a long table, seating several older men, all execs. The chief sits at the head, looking us over.

“Here there are. Our projects Aerowen and Legate.”

A review.

The men stare at us in silence, and I have to force myself not to fidget or squirm. It’s like being stared at by the higher-ups of the cult, and I feel just as exposed, even though this time I’m clothed. I still haven’t put away my cannon. I want to turn to Miroslav and see, because I don’t even think he’s  _armed_ , but I resist the urge. The men are watching us. Watching our every move.

I fight not to break the facade. I fight not to hold my breath.

One of the men leans across the table, and looks at us closer.

“They look …  _unwell_.”

I want to scream. I don’t do a thing.

“They don’t each much. They’re given a standard military diet, but they rarely finish it all. Still, they fight efficiently in the field,” the chief says. “Project: Aerowen’s always been the healthier one of the two, as well. Project: Legate’s still adapting to close-quarters combat.”

 _That was his weakest skill in the Academy, you idiots!_  No wonder he was looking so beat up every time - they were nearly killing him!

“The girl looks tense.”

“She returned from Quesh a few days ago and hasn’t been sleeping. She sustained lung damage and is still healing. We think that’s been keeping her from sleep.”

“Then give her a fucking sleep aid! No soldier can function like that, dammit!”

“Legate’s done well enough without sleep. He’s rarely asleep unless he’s recuperating,” the chief leans back and stretches in his chair. “Legate goes by a code word, while Aerowen’s had a bit more freedom. We didn’t have a code-word system when we brought her in four years ago.”

 _Four years. I’m twenty-four_.

“How many people know Legate’s code word?”

“Just the agents who work with him.”

“Can you offer a demonstration?”

“Of course,” the chief stands up, and looks directly at Miroslav. “Legate, code word:  _onomatophobia_. Put Project: Aerowen at gunpoint.”

Silence.

“…yes, sir.”

His voice is so soft, and it’s horrifying. I hear him move, but I don’t turn to watch. There’s a click of a gun, a shift of a body -  _and then the push of a barrel against the side of my neck_.

I go as rigid as I can, to stop every fucking instinct from screaming out.

“… that’s funny. Normally, Project: Aerowen would go into self-defense by this point.”

I know it’s unusual. I don’t care. I  _don’t. Fucking. Move_.

“… perhaps you need to give her another injection of the strong stuff. Rework some of those kinks out,” another man farther down the table suggests. “Maybe her survival instinct’s getting trumped.”

“Doubtful - she’s blasted crazy on the battlefield. She’s killed  _civilians_  for less.”

I need them to stop talking. I need it all to  _stop_.

Miroslav hasn’t moved his gun from off my neck.

“That’s enough, Legate. Return to military rest.”

Finally, the cold metal lifts away. I hear him put his gun away, and return to his position at my side. I try to relax. I can’t.

The men are all  _staring_  again.

“… well, we’ve got to terminate  _one of them_.”

Now, I’m fighting not to  _faint_.

“Well, it’s going to have to be the boy, right?” another man down the table pipes in. “I mean, he’s at least got the  _code word_ -”

“Yes, but he’s not nearly as tough on the battlefield. Look at the bruises!”

“But if she’s losing the ability to self-defend-”

“This was a rare occasion, believe me. When goaded, she kills for less.”

“Neither of them are even sleeping, and they take up resources to maintain. Can we afford it?”

“We can, as long as the Senate doesn’t look in. I don’t see the need to cut back on these projects-”

“But one of them has to go. One of them.”

More silence. I’m beginning to feel dizzy. Helpless. I wonder what they’d do if I just dropped to the floor and pretended to faint - or faint for real.

The cannon is so heavy in my hands, I think I might drop it.

“… Project: Aerowen seems to be sustaining the best right now,” a younger man down the table quietly brings up. “Maybe we rewire her for a code word, and then the boy …?”

“… we’d terminate the program for the boy,” the chief nods. “His experiment period has been … short, but valuable. We can apply what we’ve learned from him to Aerowen. Shouldn’t take long. We could begin immediately.”

“Then it’s settled!” one of the older men from before folds up his file and drops it with a  _smack_  against the table. “We’ll have to get somebody from Havoc to take care of it. Legate might react badly if put on the spot, but a firing squad should be humane enough. He won’t last long. And they can aim for the head.”

“At least it’s about as humane as it gets,” the chief sighs. He looks to our handlers. “Alright, you two. Project: Aerowen gets moved to the medbay for reprogramming. And Project: Legate can get one more night of sleep before it’s over.”

 _Before it’s over_ , he said. Before they …  _terminate_  him.

They were going to kill him. Kill him like some … some  _criminal_.

I can’t …

“Come on, Aerowen,” the handler takes my shoulders and tries to steer me out of the room. “Let’s get it over with.”

I don’t move my feet. I don’t move at all.

Instead, I just … start to shake.

“Uhh … you there, Aerowen? Man, you’re really melting down-”

 _I can’t_.

I turn so fast he doesn’t have time to react, and I shove the barrel of my cannon against his stomach.

“Aerowen,” I hiss, “Is not my  _fucking name_.”

I pull the trigger and unload into his gut.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s nothing but chaos. People shouting to one another through the smoke as I fire grenade after grenade and shot after shot into the room. Screams, blasts, blood spurting everywhere. I’m already soaked in it - covered from my handler’s demise. My ammo is limited, but I’m tempted to spend every bit of it on this  _assholes_  who would’ve sent my Miroslav to die.

 _My Miroslav_.

I pause only long enough to look for him. I see him on the floor - conscious, but startled, shakily trying to get up. I  _remember_ , I remember what they said. I crash down to my knees next to him, and my voice is such a hiss I don’t recognize it.

“Key word:  _onomatophobia_ , Miroslav,  _follow me_ -!”

I grab his hand and drag him out of the room at a sprint. There’s still so much shouting, but I’m pulling him down the hall and past the rush of agents around us, in such a panic they don’t even know to stop us yet. My cannon is hoisted in one hand, and my legs and lungs both burn from exertion. Miroslav’s hand is a vice around mine. He’s obeying  _me_.

Fuck the Alliance. Fuck the rescue. We need to leave  _now_.

I’m such a disoriented mess that I don’t know where we are. I’m forced to stop at an intersection of hallways, looking around frantically.  _The exit_. It’s a larger building, but we’re on the first story, and  _dammit, I know where the exit is_. I’d had presence of mind to try and map the place  _once_ , but it’s been so long and I’m nearly lost. I need landmarks. I need to see-

Shouts. I turn and see a group approaching from down one hall, guns out, and I swear as I push Miroslav back and open fire on them. I make them drop like  _flies_.

What does it is a painting on the wall. I stare at it, the picture of a gorgeous older woman with hair tied up, in long black robes. A Republic hero, her portrait an inspiration, and  _that places me_. I immediately grab Miroslav’s hand again and start running once more. If we’re near the back of the base- yes, then the  _exit_ , the only exit was the front of house, where even civilians could come in and see. No doubt the civilians would’ve been pushed out by now, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll blast through whatever the hell I need to in order to escape with him.

Nobody’s getting in my way.

We’re nearly out the hall to the front before the vile concoction in the air makes me gasp, and I slam my back against the wall and cover my mouth and nose. Miroslav gives out a cough, and I pull him back to the wall with me and hiss an order to cover his face, too, and he does. It’s still not enough - I can feel my eyes burning up, and I squeeze them shut.  _Poison gas_.

If they’d opened up a ton of cans of that here, that means they’d set up a blockage.  _Just for us_.

They would gas us out if they had to, but now they were playing for keeps.


	5. Chapter 5

I pull down Miroslav to kneel beside me as I try to come up with a plan. My mind fires back to the Academy, studying old SIS tactics - but I know it won’t help. It’s been too many years, and they will have changed their tactics since then. The fact that they’d put chemicals in the air is enough indication of that. There’s no way to know how many men are out there, but I know there’ll be enough to shoot us down if the want us both dead.

I don’t doubt the severity of the situation. We’re in  _deep shit_.

I look to Miroslav. His eyes are watering, burning red, and I slap a hand over them to keep him from going blind, at least. Even now, I can hardly see through the tears, but I force myself to let them fall down my face, enough to clear my vision just enough. I don’t know what it is they’ve filled the air with, but there’s no doubting it’s awful. Even if I’m trying to hold my breath, my lungs are in such pain it’s a miracle I’m not fainting. They hadn’t healed from Quesh, and now I’ve exerted myself. And it wasn’t even over.

 _I need help_ , I think. But there’s no help coming, not yet. And Miroslav’s not going to be a help. Even like this, even if he’s armed, there’s no way he can go through a battle like this. He’s just too ill, looking so bruised and broken I don’t even know how he’s been walking. Probably because he’s only been following orders.

He’s been a machine, and now I’ve used him, too.

I pull my hand from his face and put it to my own, trying to  _think_. And then Miroslav  _moves_.

“N-!” I nearly scream, only choking down not to give away our position, but he’s moving away from me, down the hall, closer to the exit. I lunge up and try to follow him, but he stops short of the opening, and takes something from off the ground, and I gasp so hard I nearly choke.

 _An air mask_.

He walks back and holds it out to me, eyes dull, body shaking. A tool - even if Miroslav’s feeling like shit, he’s still got the instincts of a fighter, a soldier. The mask is cracked, just a little, but it’d be enough to block the gas out. One of the agents must’ve tossed it when they saw the crack.

If we had a mask … something to filter the air …

_A good Imperial Agent would wear it themselves._

_Then in this case … I guess I’ve failed_.

I take the mask from his hands, and immediately begin to secure it to his face as the plan forms in my head. The worst plan I may have ever concocted.

“Keyword:  _onomatophobia_. You’re going to get on my back, Miroslav, and hide your face against my shoulder, okay?” my hands are shaking as I fix the straps around the back of his head, fingers brushing through the fine black hair there. “You’re going to get on my back, hide your face, and you’re going to hold on and not let go, ever. If you’re hit, you’re going to tap my shoulder twice with your hand. And you’re going to give me your gun, and you’re not going to let go of me until I tell you. Okay?”

My eyes are watering so much more now, not just from the gas, but from tears. I’m shaking so hard that I must be breaking down. Still, I pull him into my arms one more time, and hold him as tight as I can. I hold him like I held him when we were back in the Academy. I hold him like … like when we first made love. The first and the last time.

I pull in a quivering breath, and I pull back, and I turn and kneel down so he can get on my back.

“Do it, Miroslav. Now.”

I hear him unstrap his gun. I feel the weight of it in my free hand, the other clasped around my cannon. And then I feel him lean into me, and wrap his limbs around my body.

I stand up. He’s not as heavy as he might’ve been, given how little he’s eaten, but he’ll be a burden. Less of one with him on his feet, for sure, but the weight will throw me for a bit. And I’m not used to dual wielding, especially when my cannon typically requires two hands.

Still, I adjust. My forearm under the barrel, hefted to one side. Miroslav’s shotgun aimed the other way, so they formed a V. Attacking the sides, and if I shifted enough, the front.

The Force was within me, they’d said. The Force was within me, and …

I dive out into the main entrance. The expanse of the room is filled with agents of all types, weapons pointed out aimed for my face, but I let out a scream, and I rush into the fray with all the strength I have left.

_The Force is within me. And I am its_ **_harbringer_.**


	6. Chapter 6

It’s a bloodbath.

The air reeks with blood, and full with screams. Still, I march on, my skin on fire, my lungs boiling for breath. The weight of Miroslav’s body slings across my back, but I never waver. I shoot without pause, fill every walking man I see with bullet holes. I’m covered in blood My body hurts from more places than once. I should be drowning by now, on the ground, bleeding out. I’m not.

I am a machine, and I am  _possessed_.

It must’ve been hours. Hours of this, it feels, though maybe minutes have passed. Pinned behind one bunker, than another, charging over blockades and gunning down the agents that would see us dead. I whirl around and shoot the men that aim for our heads. I gasp when a shot grazes my throat, and I ignore the blood that pours down my neck.

Two taps. Another two.  _Miroslav’s taking hits_ , and I back up until we’re against a wall, and I fire, and I fire, and I  _fire_. I don’t care how badly I’m pinned down, I don’t care if we’re about to be filled with plasma shots. They’re not taking us back. I know it, and I know I’m never going to give up without a fight, no matter what happens.

If we die here, we die  _free_. And it’s all I care about.

An explosion rocks the entire building. The wall blows out entirely. SIS agents drop to the ground from it, and through the haze I see people climb through the wall and rush out in all directions. Rag-tag men, women, and young adults.

 _Jedi and gunners_.

 _Saviors_.

“PUT YOUR GUNS DOWN!” they shout, and I drop the shotgun and  _run_. I run towards them, cannon pointed away, my face probably looking more desperate than I can imagine. I see a woman approach from the debris in the air, with a familiar face and black clothes. Blond hair.

I run towards Lana Beniko, and the instant she sees me she grabs me with her Force and tosses me  _towards_  her.

“We’re getting you out of here, Lyanther, hang tight.”

She’s supporting one side of my body, marching me out, and the men and women who’d broken through surround us with lightsabers and blasters drawn. We’re hurtling outside, where witnesses have gathered with gasps, and I blurrily see the shape of a large aircraft. I’m pushed up through the open doors, as people pile in around us, and I’m so shaken at last that I finally collapse to the floor.

The ship is soaring up. My vision is burning.

 _I can’t see_.

There’s so many voices I can’t think, and so much pulling at my body.  _Pain_. Blood down my body, and the cannon stripped from my hands. I heave for breath. Weight pulls of my back,and I turn and lunge, but I’m stopped by solid arms around my shoulders.

“ _Miroslav_ ,” I wail, reaching out blindly. “ _Don’t take him from me_ -!”

“It’s over, Lyanther.”

A cool hand is put to my head, and I feel a strong pressure within my mind. I tense up and constrict, and the world suddenly shoves me into the abyss.


	7. Chapter 7

The hospital room is quiet.

Suzuka watches out the window with soft eyes, unable to make them harsh even if she desired it. She’s so tired, and her face - her face, down her left side and over her arm, is in such pain. It burns with the scarring down her skin, even if covered in bandages and rubbed with salve. If she thought she had the energy to help herself, she would - but even that seems weak. The Force feels so out of her reach.

There’s smoke outside of the window, many miles away.

She wants to reach out and find its source, wants to find out what’s going on. Something’s wrong, and she knows it. And then she hears the door on the other side of the room open, and she turns her gaze to see Felix marching in, eyes hard. Teeth grit.

“ _The SIS was hiding Imperial agents_.”

He hisses it so vehemently that Suzuka is left in shock. Her eyes go wide. She sits up in bed, and looks at him. At the gazes they exchange, she suddenly understands.

Her eyes narrow, and she feels her face contort into an unfamiliar snarl.

She gets out of bed and walks to Felix regardless of the pain.

“Call the Senate.  _Now_.”

***

Somebody’s shaking them awake. It’s so unfamiliar after so long, but Alexei knows what it means - it means something’s  _wrong_. They lurch up fast and reach for this blasters on instinct.

“ _Whoa_ , slow down!” Mako grabs them to keep them from falling out of the couch like a madman. “Alex, it’s okay - at least, I mean, you don’t need your blasters. You won’t  _believe_  what’s across the news!”

“ _What’s going on_?!” Alexei asks, voice strained. Even now, they struggle to place themselves, half of their mind stuck in their own ship and their sight focused on their own apartment in Kaas City, and they look to Mako with a start. “What’s happening?!”

“Alexei, you won’t believe this. You have to watch this,” And then she’s forcing a holopad into her hands and playing some kind of video. Alexei recognizes it from old screenshots - an image of Coruscant, except there’s some building there that’s being blown to pieces. There’s a crowd gathered, watching a group rushing out of a hole in the side of the building with a group of three huddled in the centre.

They lean closer to the screen and squint. Then, when they see it, their eyes go wide, and they nearly throw the holopad across the room.

“MIROSLAV?!”

***

Channery’s heels are clicking quickly as she hurries down the hallways of Korriban’s Academy, towards the rooms of the Dark Council. Her lady’s instructions had been clear -  _do not interrupt the meeting_ , same as always, but she can’t help herself. Her Empress needs to know  _now_.

She slams the great doors of the Dark Council Hall open, and rushes in with a gasp.

“ _Rioters_! Two of our Imperial agents have been rescued from Coruscant - they’ve been held there for years, rescued by the Alliance, and people across the Empire are demanding answers. They’re marching outside of the Academy as we speak!”

She spills it out in an rush in the middle of the room, with all the dark councilors looking on in shock. At the end of the room, Etsuko -  _her empress_  - goes wide-eyed, and slowly sits up.

“The people … are …  _what_?!”

***

Deep within the dark heart on Voss, a chamber aside from the tomb of Sel Makor glows with the glaze of a large blue crystal, that reaches up from the floor and arcs across the walls. At its peak, near a skylight at the top of the room, it twists and turns in beautiful curls around a woman, Mirialan, frozen in time. Her single open eye, gold, glimmers with unfamiliar and old strength. Cradled in her arms is a small child, grey-green, huddled. Asleep.

The woman’s free arm reaches up towards the light. And at her fingertips, where the crystal should’ve been at its thicket - the blue  _cracks_.


	8. Chapter 8

Nothing feels real.

It’s just a floating abyss, nothing but blackness that Miroslav thinks he must be floating within. He’s almost buoyant within it, rising up through the dark confines in it, and though his spirit feels weak, shaken, he reaches up for the light peering through the darkness above. Miroslav Ivanov reaches up and tries to reach up to the light.

His eyes open.

He’s staring up at a white ceiling, lying down atop some kind of bed. Everything is unfamiliar - scratchy clothes over his body, long hair splaying into his eyes, a mask affixed to his face. His lungs hurt. His whole body aches. And nearby, he can hear the beeps of machines and equipment.

A hospital?

Miroslav blinks, slowly. Then, he finally tries to sit up. HIs limbs are like jelly, and he’s so weak he’s falling back and making his head hit the pillow with a thump. He can hear sounds nearby, and a door opening. His head spins.

“… awake. Yeah, Oggurobb, you were right. I think he’s awake.”

There’s a hand to the mask over his face, pulling it away. He breathes in, and the air that had been so clean and pure before is replaced with regular, cold fumes.

“Hey there, Cipher Eleven. Or I should call you Miroslav, I guess, seeing as Intelligence hasn’t contacted us yet.”

There’s a face peeking in above him. Darker skin, almost well-tanned, with yellow eyes and cybernetic implants near the man’s left eye. His brow is drawn in concern, and his fauxhawk seems messy and unkempt.

Miroslav doesn’t recognize him. Doesn’t recognize  _anything_.

The mean reaches beneath him and adjusts something under his head. And then he helps him sit up.

“You must be …  _damned confused_ , which I suppose I get. It sounded like you haven’t been conscious for a long time, so this is all probably a big shock. I’m not great at the whole ‘shock’ thing, but I’m what you’ve got for now,” He leans back and holds out a hand. “Theron Shan. Co-leader of the Alliance.”

… Alliance?

Miroslav can’t muster the energy to do anything but blink at the man.

“…ooookay, so you’re still a little out of it. Not a surprise,” the man - Theron - drops his hand back into his lap, and lifts the other to comb through his hair. “ _Shit_ , well … I guess I should start somewhere. Well. You’re alright, first off. You’re in our hospital on Odessan. You got hit with some blaster shots back on Coruscant, but they’ll heal up fine. Honestly, your friend was something else. I didn’t even see what happened, but the fact that she carried you through a goddamn fire fight and got you out of there in one piece is saying something. Not sure I could say the same for many others.”

Now he’s just more confused than ever.  _Friend_  …?

“Ah, that’s … probably not helping either. Okay. Square one then,” Theron sits back and shrugs. “You were kept hostage by the SIS. Not even hostage, I think - as an experiment. They were doing some kind of shit to your head - brainwashing. You were kept there for something like … eight months? We’re still pulling some of the pieces together, but from the sounds of it, you were part of a Project: Legate involving some kind of toxins and stuff. We’re still running scans to see what you might’ve sustained mentally, but for now, we’re just trying to get you back physically. You’ve lost a lot of weight. A lot of blood, too, but we’re working on that.” He sort of laughs. “You’re a lucky sonuvabitch, you know? If it hadn’t been for that Ji-Yeong chick, you’d probably be dead-”

Miroslav  _lurches_. He nearly throws himself at Theron, grabbing his shoulders so tightly it must hurt. Theron shouts and stops; Miroslav’s voice is so frayed it’s a hollow noise of what it once was.

“Ji … Yeong?  … where is she-?” He looks up at the man’s face and shouts. “Dear god, NO, where IS SHE?!”

“Sh-She’s-!” Theron takes his shoulders and pushes him back, just enough for some distance. He look … conflicted, but he finally spills it out. “She … took a lot of damage. Brain damage, breathed in a bunch of nasty chemicals, lots of injuries …” he sighs and drops his hands. “She’s comatose. We … don’t know how long it’ll take for her to wake up.”

… Ji-Yeong. His best friend. Injured, and comatose.

_She saved my life_.

“… let me see her.”

Theron seems hesitant. He opens his mouth to speak, but Miroslav’s grabbing him again, eyes wide, frantic.

“I SAID, LET ME SEE HER!  _PLEASE_!”

Theron seems to go two shades paler. He says nothing, and gives just a hasty nod.

***

_Corpse_.

She looks like she’s a corpse. Lying on the bed, covered by blankets up to her collar and a mask still affixed to her mouth and nose. Her eyes are shut tightly. Her red hair is fanned across the pillows. Her throat is wrapped with bandages, stained red.

Miroslav’s leaning against Theron, hanging on for dear life, and he’s  _shaking_.

“She was a lot worse when we brought her in,” Theron says quietly. “She’ll … we have a positive prognosis. We just don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

It really is  _her_. It is. Miroslav reaches out and touches her cheek, and he can feel its warmth. Flesh and blood. She really is  _alive_.

He drops his hand, and turns his face to Theron’s shoulder. And then he truly drops into a dead faint.


End file.
